Page 48 of Center of Gravity
“Did you hear that, Alexander? I know it must sound like a foreign language to you, but Rob just offered to help. And no thank you, by the way, I’ve got it.”
“Just a reminder, Ma, those potatoes didn’t peel themselves.”
I sank back against the counter near them, wine in hand, a smile playing over my mouth.
“I hope he’s been more chivalrous as an employee.” Mom gave me the eye as she spoke.
“He’s an absolute savage, but he knows how to paint.” Rob’s gaze touched on me and moved away. The way he said savage was some kind of vocal sorcery that burned through my abdomen. I thought of his hands moving over my body, how he’d had me writhing beneath his touch. I was not going to get hard in my parents’ kitchen. I was not.
I cleared my throat and took a gulp of wine.
“He does that,” Mom said. “Has he shown you anything he’s done?”
“Mom! This isn’t show and tell.”
“After dinner.” She gave Rob a knowing smile. “Get him to show you.” I detected a measure of pride in her tone that lit a warm glow within me. Different from the heat of Rob’s voice, but just as welcome. It was nice to see her enjoying herself.
My dad joined us for dinner, looking a little pale. He stuck to the potatoes and didn’t touch his wine, but he and Rob found a common thread talking about the fate of Maserati. I had no idea Rob even knew a thing about cars, but he and Dad went back and forth on the merits and failures of some new model so fluently that it was like watching a different person. This Rob was charming and warm, quick to laugh and witty. He had my parents in stitches three times. Even fucking Lainey was giggling. It was fascinating to watch and more than a little irritating, even if my reasons were selfish.
After dinner, I helped Mom with the dishes and Rob wandered off with Dad. I found them in Dad’s room, going through the box of civil war miniatures.
“I think this one is Lee.” Dad pulled the task lamp next to his bed closer. I could tell he was exhausted, and when his fingers fumbled over the lamp, Rob smoothly snuck his hand in to right it.
“No chance in hell he’d ever be this close to Grant still in one piece, though.” Rob said, poking at another figurine sitting on the book Dad used as an impromptu desk. Dad’s grin waned slowly.
“I’ve enjoyed the painting more than I thought I would. It’s been a good distraction.”
“I’m glad.” Rob seemed poised to say more, but glanced up and caught me in the doorway. “I’ve probably got some more if you’re interested. Just tell Alex and I’ll send them along.”
Dad nodded. “I’m sorry about your parents, by the way. Must have been a hard year for you.”
“Thank you.” Rob fronted a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We had a chance to say goodbye. That’s more than a lot of people get.”
From the way my dad’s tentative smile thinned out, I could tell he regretted saying anything at all.
“So areyou going to show me?” Rob asked, once we left Dad’s room behind.
I handed him a fresh glass of wine, holding my own as I drifted closer toward full-blown intoxication, and tried for a lighter tone since we’d just come from somber. “Right here?” I grinned.
“Very funny. You know what I meant.”
I stepped around him, waving him after me through the back door and across the side yard to the detached garage. I flicked on the light as the door swung wide, then scooted off to the side to make room for him as he took in the media smorgasbord of piled canvases and overfilled boxes.
Rob walked the length of the room, studying some of the old paintings I’d done before deciding to switch from painting to three-dimensional design.
“Who’s this?” He separated one of the canvases from the rest. Alain’s wide, dark eyes and petulant mouth stared back at us.
“A guy I dated a couple of years ago. Alain.”
“Very pretty.”
Alain was definitely that. “And very shallow, too. But he’s responsible for the nicer portion of my wardrobe.”
Rob smiled and replaced the canvas, setting his wine glass down to pick up a large sketchbook. He found a folding chair, flipped it down, and asked with a gesture toward the sketchbook, “Can I?”
“Sure.” I took another healthy swallow of wine as he flipped through the pages. “Live studies.”
“I don’t know a lot about art, but these look pretty good to me.” His eyes flickered up in my direction, a subtle shift in them. Respect, maybe?